


There, But for the Grace of Pt II...

by PhoenixDragon



Series: There, But for the Grace of [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-02
Updated: 2006-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he never thought once of stopping him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There, But for the Grace of Pt II...

  
He's gone.

Dean still can't quite believe it - just finds it hard to grasp the fact that his father just...just _left_ him.

 _And he never thought once of stopping him._

He knew.

The soft sounds of movement, the quiet snick of the door as it shut behind John Winchester. He heard all these things, but something told him to stay still - to cradle himself in that hazy cloud of half-sleep, body strained with the effort of remaining motionless, mind alert to the slightest change in his surroundings. Eventually, he resumed a dreamless doze, but it didn't last long.

' _He'll be back._ '

Though he wasn't really sure on that point.

And when he became fully conscious half an hour later, he knew what had happened - his gut told him the truth.

His stomach curled in on itself, becoming a knot of tight emotion, the feeling heavy, sick and _oily_ , somehow - his heart thudding a rapid tattoo of barely contained panic in his chest. He had never been _alone_ , alone.

And he dreaded the future, wondering what was in store with his dad being gone.

He had gone on hunts by himself, and his father had as well - being gone sometimes as long as a month, before returning to whatever hellhole they currently called home - knowing instinctively that his eldest son would be there -

Waiting.

 _But this time._

This time was different. Everything but largest portion of his weapons collection was gone. Dad's journal, his notes, his duffel -

 _And his truck._

He didn't take the Impala - his favorite Hunt vehicle.

Dean's mouth was dry, his skin too tight on his skull, eyes pounding with the thud of his heart, trying to pop out their sockets as he breathed through his mouth in slow, shaky breaths, fighting to stay calm.

And so - he waited. He waited at the broken down, rickety-assed table by the window, staring out through the tiny sliver of a gap in the curtain at nothing - telling his gut it was being stupid, that of _course_ he would be back.

 _He always came back._

But after a few hours of sitting at the table, motionless, eyes staring dryly at nothing, bones aching from the forced stillness - his head began to agree with his gut - so he did the only thing he knew to do at this point, and the one thing he had put off, because in the end, no, he really _didn't_ want to know. And this one act would tell him everything -

It all depended on John Winchester, now.

He clambered to his feet and stretched, digging his cellphone from his pocket in one swift, practiced move, retrieving the number from the phonebook on his memory page without looking, and hit the Send button - pacing in tight circles as he did so - the stretch and thrum of abused, formerly clenched muscles soothing and familiar.

" Come one, come on, come on - " He whispered to himself, letting his cell ring and ring and ring. The mantra kept him calm, kept him focused - as he was one step away from jumping out of his skin. " Come on, Dad. Pick _up_!"

After fifteen rings, it directed him to the voicemail function. And he hung up.

He felt like crying for the first time in _years_. He couldn't even _remember_ the last time he had cried, much less when he had last felt this - **hollow**.

Dawn had long since approached, a thin runnel of weak, watery light peering through the slit in the drapes, spilling across the tired looking table in dribbling spasms. He found himself staring at it, as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world, his heart slowing to a dull thud of abject apathy under his breast, a far cry from the terror filled pace of before.

He couldn't think, he couldn't _breathe_. Misery wrapped around his soul, and deep within his stunned mind came the glee-filled whisper -

' _I told you so... ItoldyousoItoldyousoItold-you-SO!!!_ '

" No." He mumbled. " It's just a bad connection. Probably driving through mountains. Yeah, that's it - I'll just try back later."

' _You liiieeeee!!!_ ' With that same hateful, chattering hysteria that madmen must hear on an endless basis.

" Shut _UP_!" He hissed fiercely, resuming his pacing across the ratty floor of the motel room... " Just - shut up."

Tiredly.

 _Man_ , he was so **tired**.

So he waited some more, and tried countless times all through that long day to reach his father - his last link to family, as the evil voice within alternated between gibbering in crazy joy, and sobbing in bottomless sorrow. Maybe he _was_ going mad - it would explain alot, actually.

Like why John Winchester felt compelled to leave him.

After dozens and dozens of aborted calls, and too many monotonous hours of pacing and sitting while staring at nothing - he gave up and resumed his seat at the window, watching the light crawl sluggishly across the room until it was gone - replaced by the deep dusk of impending night.

So he sat as the night ticked slowly away to another dawn, a shadow in the depths of the dark-filled mausoleum masquerading as another fly-by-night motel room, food forgotten, sleep forgotten - as he waited for an answer from his father that would never come. Needless to say -

It was a very long night, indeed...

 **_TBC?_ **

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This one's for eloise_bright, who made me like John, damn her!! *Giggles* Worse yet, she made me cage all my other plot bunnies to feed this one, and it wouldn't go away!! So, like or hate it - it is totally her fault!!  
> Disclaimer: Don't own them - but, I'm with Eloise - they own me! And they still aren't sharing the coffee with the women locked in the trunk. Dammit.


End file.
